


The greatest gayest escape

by elzierav



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Lovers, Gift Fic, M/M, Marrow gets adopted, Or more like enemies who flirt, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 05:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30117909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzierav/pseuds/elzierav
Summary: The deadly tip of Ebi’s scimitar dances its way between the rusty iron bars of the brig to rest tauntingly, impossibly tauntingly just atop Qrow's Adam's apple.“Where is Ironwood held captive?”“Uh, I dunno, on my ship?”“And where is your ship?”“Well, I’m glad you asked. I’ve the location marked with a gold star on the map I’ve got tattooed all over my butt cheeks.”At that, the point of Clover’s blade hungrily travels down, a click of metal against metal resounding as it hits the buckle of Qrow’s belt.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	The greatest gayest escape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [synvamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/synvamp/gifts).



> Happy (belated) birthday Syn! I only figured out a few hours back and then the pirate brainrot took over me....

“So… am I the good cop or the bad cop?” Marrow reiterates, fidgeting with the worn pommel of his cutlass as he paces on the main deck. 

“You can’t be the bad cop, you’ve too much of a good boy for that,” Elm points out, ruffling his hair to make him pout. “Look at those puppy dog eyes! Awww!”

“At least I make a good bad cop,” Harriet retorts as she takes a bite out of the apple in her hand as if to demonstrate. 

“Because you’re mean?” the taller female teases with a playful shove that would’ve sent her tumbling overboard if she were any less prepared. 

“Hold on, do you mean good bad as in bad at being good or good at being bad or...” Marrow mumbles, his voice trailing off as he scratches his hair in dire need of a shower after weeks out at sea. 

“Harriet is not mean, she is chaotic neutral,” Vine sighs heavily as he stares into his spyglass into the distance and the expanse of green cresting waves under the scorching sun. 

“So chaotic she’s about to explode,” Clover agrees as salutes his crew with a tip of his feathered hat. 

“Hey!” she protests, reaching for her apple again only to realise that her Captain replaced it with a cannonball and is now cheerfully munching on the somewhat mangled apple core. 

“Captain Ebi, sir,” Vine greets, his back even straighter than the horizon line in the distance. 

“Now, Marrow, no need to be the good or the bad cop, just… be yourself, and watch me work my charms, understood?”

“Aye, sir!”

“Great, now let’s go interrogate the infamous Qrow Branwen.”

From the brig below deck, the infamous Qrow Branwen only quietly chuckles at overhearing his captors calling him infamous. Even chuckling is mildly painful, mildly annoying - his throat is dry and parched, his saliva as salty as the sea and his tongue as raspy as sandpaper. Infamous pirate, fearsome flibustier, boisterous buccaneer… he’s heard them all, those legends about him that roam the waves and haunt the grimiest corners of every tavern of ill enough repute around these tropics. They all exaggerate how many treasures he uncovered, how many Atlesian ships he sank, how many times he escaped capture, and how little time he takes to evade capture every time… this time being no different. Hopefully.

“O great Captain Ebi… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

With a mock curtsy, the prisoner makes sure his tattered shirt falls open in the most advantageous fashion, and that the blackened iron cuffs that bind his wrists and ankles shine under their best light under the parallel sun rays that fall vertically between the metal bars of the brig.

“I don’t have time to deal with your antics, Branwen. Tell me where your crew holds Admiral Ironwood hostage, or I’ll slice off your pretty little tongue.”

“So… I’m the good cop then?” Marrow wonders, much to the others’ indifference. 

“Tssss, I thought y’all in the Atlesian navy would be more polite, with that stick you’ve got all the way up your rear ends,” Branwen sneers. “What are you guys anyway? Bootlickers? Or just pirates like us who think they’re high and mighty special snowflakes because they wipe their behinds on hefty paychecks from the Queen of Atlas?”

“Uh… it’s a gray area...” the self-proclaimed good cop offers, increasingly confused by the second. 

“Say that again, rookie? ‘Cause I definitely heard a gay area. Which means I was right concerning the nice big sticks up your plump little -”

“Silence, prisoner. Only speak when addressed. How would you have preferred me to address you?”

“You could use that big shiny sexy sword of yours and tilt my chin up when you talk to me so I can look into your breathtaking green eyes and -”

“Okay, that’s enough. If that motivates you...” before Qrow can even react, the deadly tip of Ebi’s scimitar already danced its way between the rusty iron bars of the brig to rest tauntingly, impossibly tauntingly just atop the pirate’s Adam's apple. “Where is Ironwood held captive?”

“Uh, I dunno, on my ship? Listen, lucky charm, it’s not my fault if your boss got distracted by the blonde hair and green eyes and bad puns of my brother in law enough to fall into a trap by broad daylight and get his shit kicked in by all of my crew who whisked him away on the Sniveling Magpie. If anything, that sounds like your fault, when your admirable Admiral is so much in need of getting laid that he becomes a big idiot.”

“And where is your ship?”

“In the middle of the desert in Vacuo.”

“How did it get there? With a… tornado?” Marrow quirks up an incredulous eyebrow. “I knew your reputation for being unlucky, but...”

“Clover, can none of your men take a joke?”

“Where. Is. Your. Ship?” the Captain suddenly hisses, tilting his head just so that a passing beam of sunlight makes his sea green eyes glisten with the fiercest intensity.

“Well, I’m glad you asked. I’ve the location marked with a gold star on the map I’ve got tattooed all over my butt cheeks.”

At that, the point of Clover’s blade hungrily travels down, a click of metal against metal resounding as it hits the buckle of Qrow’s belt. Then the swordsman executes a fancy flourish with a flick of his wrist, and the pirate’s breeches fall open, neatly unbuckled. Apparently, they teach neat tricks in the Navy these days. Or on the pirate ships. Or in the gay area… whatever. 

Qrow can only let out a small whine at the sudden coldness caressing his posterior… and the fact that Clover stopped dead in his tracks, clearly appreciating the effect his actions have on his captive.

“I knew you always wanted to strip for me,” the Captain muses with a small smile. “But now that I have your attention… perhaps we can find some kind of middle ground. A compromise, if you will.”

“What makes you believe that I’ll compromise anyth-”

Qrow’s words only turn into a shocked, muffled gasp as a strong hand grabs a fistful of his mangled collar, pulling him up until his lips are on Clover’s. His face slammed against the cold, rough metal bars, the pirate emits a groan in protest, but that only allows his captor’s tongue deeper access, and Ebi’s skillful tongue tip is nothing if not teasing, his lips are nothing if not teasing, his hands are nothing if not teasing, tousling and tangling Qrow’s hair with just enough tension and just enough tenderness to make him squirm. 

And he squirms. And then it’s over. 

It was too fast, it was a tease, and now it’s all over. 

“If you want more,” the Captain says with a wink, “which judging by how pent up you must be after all that time out there at sea with only your polyamorous crew and their captive pet James, well if you want more, just try to be more cooperative.”

“Oh, with pleasure,” Qrow snarks back with a mock bow - and while bending down, he wraps his unbuckled belt around Clover’s ankles, causing the Captain to painfully flop down onto the cell bars when trying to take a step back. 

A smirk on his lips, the prisoner entangles one of the chains connected to his wrist shackles onto Clover’s neck, tightening the loop until the alabaster skin turns red, then white, and the Captain lets out a small, choked sound.

“Hey, puppy dog eyes, unlock this door and free me, or I’ll snap your Captain’s neck...”

“... yes, sir...” Marrow echoes, fumbling with the uselessly many keys on his chain… it’s not like there’s that many locks on board anyway…

Eventually, he finds the right key, and the door clicks and swivels open, followed by the manacles falling away like useless, rotten fruit. Like a cat after a long nap, Qrow stretches his lengthy limbs as soon as he’s untied, only too merry to be freed.

“You… aren’t gonna kill me now I’ve outlived my purpose?” the rookie stutters, keys clattering as his hand trembles ever so slightly. 

“Nope. But I could adopt you, if those ruffians you call a crew don’t treat you well. You know what they say, be in the gay area, do crime...”

“How dare you insult my crew!” Clover snaps back, wrestling his way out of Qrow’s grasp to draw his pistol and press it against the pirate’s temple. 

“Impressive,” Qrow cocks an appreciative brow at his enemy’s striking speed, “but perhaps you’d like a taste of your own medicine.”

With that, the pirate licks all the way from the gun’s barrel to Clover’s hand, and then roughly bites the wrist, drawing an indignant squeal as the brunette drops his weapon. Immediately resorting back to his blade, the Captain draws his scimitar and attempts a guard position, only to remember that his ankles are still bound, causing him to stumble straight into Qrow who grabs him by the waist and charges him onto one shoulder despite his insistent protests before Marrow’s wide-eyed stare.

“I licked him, he’s mine,” the pirate mutters with a small shrug by way of explanation.

“He’s yours, so you married him, and adopted me?”

“... Hmm. I suppose it could work like that,” Qrow replies after a pause, sensing the onslaught of a headache pulsating at his forehead. “Now hurry and get us outta here.”

Only then, clambering out onto the main bridge under broad daylight, does Qrow remember that he isn’t all that young anymore, and that heaving heavy, muscular himbos doesn’t exactly get easier with age. 

“Get out of my way, or I throw your cute little captain overboard,” he grumbles tiredly at the crew on the deck, awaiting orders. 

But Clover’s crew won’t give up so easily, and the greying pirate lets out a groan as Harriet already charges at him head first - just in time for Qrow to hurl the Captain’s frantically kicking feet at her face to knock her down. 

“But there’s too many of them...” Marrow whines as he draws his cutlass, struggling to parry both Vine and Elm’s slashes blow for blow.

With a smirk, the pirate only has to swivel around to use Clover’s head to headbutt Vine, causing him to drop his blade to the wooden deck. Elm retaliates with a violent swing of her own blade, but the rookie pounces over it, reaching for the ropes as he scales the mast above the chaotically amassing crew. 

“You coward!” she howls in his direction, but Qrow only looks up appreciatively, crimson eyes sparkling as an idea births in his mind. 

“Catch!” he calls out to Marrow, tossing something he extracted from his pocket.

It’s only dried bread crusts and crumbs from decrepit brig meals, but the young sailor immediately knows what to do with them. From his elevated position, as Qrow swiftly gets away with the Captain still on his shoulder, Marrow rains down moldy bread onto the crew, making some soldiers hungry and most confused.

It doesn’t take long before an army of seagulls dives down on them.

Using the distraction as the crew still battles the fierce flock of birds pecking and clawing at their heads, Marrow and Qrow run to the dinghy, making sure to tie Clover up while they lower the small vessel into the water. The Captain doesn’t easily capitulate however and quickly grabs a pistol hidden away in the dinghy to shoot into the air, scaring away the seagulls and alerting the crewmembers of their location. 

“Oh no!” Marrow exclaims as a deafening sound of shattering wood echoes.

Only when the dinghy reaches the water does Qrow turn around, only to see a terrified Marrow with a broken oar in his hand, standing over an unconscious Clover upon whose temple an angry bruise hastily blossoms.

“You broke the paddle!” the pirate accuses, stating the obvious.

“He had a gun, and I panicked!”

“You panicked, knocked him out, and broke the oar on that hard head of his! How are we gonna get away from here with no oar?”

“You could use your cape as a sail, as you did to escape Argus… or so the rumours say. Or we could paddle using our hands.”

“And hope that no shark around here wants a snack.”

“Nah, the sharks around here have good taste. They prefer meatier snacks.”

The two fugitives look down at their long, spindly arms painstakingly stirring amidst the waves.

“Well then,” Qrow says, “let’s hope those gourmet sharks aren’t well-mannered enough to fancy some long bony toothpicks.”

* * *

Clover’s head hurts. It’s burning, throbbing, stinging, his heartbeat pounding at his temples as his body lulls gently, suggesting that he must be on a boat. As his senses progressively return, the familiar sound of ebbing and flowing waves confirms that hypothesis, but more surprising is the cool, fuzzy sensation of a wet washcloth someone delicately dabs against his forehead, while long, careful fingers slowly rummage through his hair, to the strange sound of plink, plink, plink. The sound will not stop, neither will the hand combing through his curls, moving with as much soft certainty as the moon pulls the tide, infinitely caring, infinitely calming. 

His eyelids tremble at the contact, but he doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet, doesn’t want the gentle touches to stop, for he could easily get used to this...

“I know you’re awake, and I’m not petting you like a dog, just removing the glass from your hair.”

Clover recognises the raspy, deadpan voice, and his eyelids reluctantly flutter open to see a unique shade of mildly concerned vermillion eyes.

“The… glass?” he echoes hesitantly.

“Of course my sister had to break a bottle on your head as soon as she caught a glimpse of that Atlesian uniform of yours.”

“Oh… but wasn’t I already out cold?”

“You were waking up, I reckon. Your eyes do that little fluttery thing when you pass out, it’s quite cute. It’s like they’ve forgotten how to wink.”

“Where am I now? On the Sniveling Magpie?”

“Welcome to my beautiful vessel,” Qrow gestures around vaguely, pointing at the mess of maps covering the small captain’s cabin. 

“The Sniveling Magpie… Admiral Ironwood… is he on board? Is he safe?”

As if on cue, a familiar voice lets out a long, broken moan, causing a shiver to drip down Clover’s spine while only a slight blush dusts Qrow’s cheeks.

“Is he being tortured? Trust me, there’s no information you can torture out of that man, he won’t say a word...”

“Nah, he’s not being tortured. Tai’s just bending him over every possible surface on the ship. He’ll be fine.”

“What do you intend to do of him? And of me, now that I’m your prisoner?”

“My crew and I could get a good ransom for both of you… or I could use you for… entertaining purposes,” the pirate taunts, before swiftly bending down to press a quick peck atop his captive’s cupid’s bow.

“Well if you want more, just try to be more cooperative,” Qrow adds with a small wink.

“Oh, with absolute pleasure, pretty bird,” Clover concurs, before tugging at Qrow’s shirt to pull him into a real, earnest, passionate kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on Twitter I'm @elzierav


End file.
